In The Beginning by Gail Daley (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

way I hear it, he runs with Henry Miller, and Miller is a tiger-bat on wheels in a fight."

"Four pounds."

Chamber nodded. "Alright. Who’s the other one?"

"Another of St. Vyr’s son-in-laws. Name of Carlos Madonna. He runs the Lucky Strike Mine. Dark eyes, dark skin, black hair. About six foot. Dresses nice. Not so gun savvy as McCaffey, but the word is he’s good with a knife."

"Thrown or hand to hand?"

"Both from what I hear."

Chamber nodded. "Twelve ounces of silver chips, delivered to my account in Copper City."

"Half now and half when the jobs finished. I set you up with a room here—"

"No thanks. Too high-toned. I’ll get a room across the river."

"Suit yourself."

When the door had closed behind Chambers, Jacob Lutz stirred. "Satisfied, Johnson?"

"He seems competent enough. He better be as good as you say he is."

"He comes highly recommended."

The two men cemented their partnership with a drink, and Lutz excused himself, unaware that Johnson was considering adding a third man to Chamber's fee. Lutz had useful contacts, but he would have to be removed. Johnson couldn't afford to have anyone around who knew he had bought two deaths.

Lutz was too caught up in his own dreams to recognize the danger he represented to Johnson or wonder if Johnson would do anything about it. He had plans of his own he intended to pursue. His meeting with St. Vyr's accountant this evening should ensure his plan to foreclose on the Lucky Strike. Luckily, the accountant was in debt up to his ears and about to lose his home through defaulting on his loan at the bank. With any luck, he might be able to include the ranch house as well when he claimed St. Vyr had signed a loan against his holdings to make his payroll.

Useful Information

MIKE FRANKS WAITED until the St. Vyr women had disembarked in Junction City to approach Iris. She and Jeanne were waiting while Gran negotiated with the dockworkers to take their baggage to the hotel.

"Miss Iris, what a nice surprise to find you here," Franks said. "Can I help you ladies get your luggage to a hotel?"

"Thank you, but that won’t be necessary," Giselle told him. "These gentlemen have already agreed to do that for us.

"Perhaps I could find you a cab to take you there?"

"That has been arranged, but thank you," Giselle’s voice was perfectly polite, but dismissive.

Franks glowered at her back as the three women entered a closed buggy drawn by a large brown and white tricorn.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where you’re taking the baggage?" Franks asked the nearest dockworker.

The man scowled over at him. "Seems to me the ladies weren’t too anxious to make your acquaintance," he said. "You want to know so bad, you’ll just have to follow us."

Irritated, Franks waited until the dockworkers had loaded up their wagon with luggage to take on into the town. It was doubly annoying because he discovered as he followed them on foot, that they made stops at several places along the way to drop off goods and baggage. The last stop was the Rainbow Hotel, an upscale establishment that boasted a café as well as rooms for rent.

He was at the front desk, trying to convince the skinny clerk to let him see the register, when he saw Samuel Johnson enter the lobby. Instead of his usual cowman’s pants and boots, Johnson was dressed in a grey suit. When he saw Johnson approaching the desk, Franks ducked behind a large potted plant a few feet away.

"Tom Clancy," Johnson told the clerk. "I believe you are holding a room for me."

"Yes sir," the clerk agreed. "Here is your key. The room is at the top of the stairs on the right. Do you need assistance with your luggage?"

"No thanks, I just have this." Johnson held up a single valise. "I’m staying here overnight to meet my fiancée. We’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon after the wedding."

"Congratulations, Sir."

"Thanks." Without having seen Franks, Johnson went up the stairs.

Franks whistled to himself. Now just what was Johnson up to? And why had he given the clerk a false name?

It seemed as if one of the Johnson cubs was getting married. And under a false name too. Franks knew enough about the Johnson family to be sure none of the sons made a move that hadn’t been sanctioned by old Ira Johnson, so this must tie in with one of Johnson’s schemes. It might be worth money to keep quiet about it if he could find out what the Johnsons were up to. Blackmailing Johnson might get him killed too, but Franks was a man who liked risks. If Johnson refused to pay, he could probably find someone to pay for the information. Franks decided to stay a while. Tracking down Iris St. Vyr could wait.

When Samuel presented himself at the door of the suite occupied by the St. Vyr women, he found them getting ready to set out on a shopping expedition.

"Wedding clothes for the girls," Giselle told him. "You didn’t think I was going to let one of my granddaughters get married without a proper wedding dress, did you?"

"Ah—I hadn’t thought about it."

She shook her white head. "Men never do." She thrust a sheet of paper at him. "Here is the address of a tailor to fit you for a wedding suit. Go there first, afterwards, go to the preacher who will be marrying you. His name is Len Jones. Tell him to be here at noon tomorrow to perform the ceremony. Afterwards, we will have the wedding luncheon. Before you leave for the train, the pair of you will change into traveling clothes suitable to your new identities as a prosperous farmer and his wife."

Samuel read the address on the paper, realizing he was going to need to get directions from the hotel clerk and went back downstairs in the women’s wake.

Neither the women or Samuel saw Franks still sitting in the lobby behind the conveniently located plant, but he saw